


Porridge. I tried.

by CancerianWastelandCat



Series: Requests [1]
Category: the GazettE
Genre: Caretaking, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Romantic Friendship, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 16:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12844818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CancerianWastelandCat/pseuds/CancerianWastelandCat
Summary: In which Uruha is sick and Aoi tries to take care of... something. Somehow.





	Porridge. I tried.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request from lovely @aoi-sensei on Tumblr :)

“Aoi, what are you doing?”  
  
“Stay in bed!”  
  
Uruha frowned and turned over onto his back, coughing until a ball of slime on his tongue made him groan in disgust. He tapped around blindly for the glass of water on his bedside table, heaving himself up once he found it. It didn’t help much to gulp it all down because the taste kept lingering and made his skin crawl. He hated being sick.  
  
“Oh fuck. Damn. Fucking hell, what the…”  
  
Ironically enough, the second wave of curse words coming from the kitchen softened his frown and Uruha sat up slowly, yawning despite the slight sting of pain it carried.  
Aoi had rang him up pretty early this morning and even though Uruha had made clear that his damn flu was contagious, Aoi had insisted on coming over. It had made him smile though.  
Uruha fought his way out of bed and trudged down the hallway. There was a burnt scent in the air, boding ill for whatever Aoi was doing in the kitchen.  
  
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Uruha rasped in amusement once he found his friend in front of the stove, fanning away grey smoke with a paper plate.  
  
The guitarist sighed, very visibly in frustration as he dropped his arms and turned to look at Uruha.  
  
“I’m a failure,” he whined, “I fail at nursing my friend. I fail at making proper tea and I fail at cooking! What even can I do!”  
  
Uruha giggled and stepped closer, throwing a careful gaze into the pot. It wasn’t the soup he had expected, more like a soggy, grainy kind of… gew.  Lifting his eyes, Uruha met Aoi’s with an apologetic grin.  
  
“What exactly is… that supposed to be?”  
  
Aoi showed a pout and Uruha couldn’t help but allow his heartbeat to flutter.  
  
“Porridge.”  
  
Now his eyelids fluttered and as he inhaled a cough crept up his throat, sending him into a coughing fit that forced him to cover his mouth with one hand. That at least explained the grainy bits…  
  
“Porridge? You tried m-making Porridge?”  
  
“Why do you sound so surprised??”  
  
Throwing his hands into the air, Aoi cursed and angrily shoved the pot off the stove. “I never should’ve tried, I’m just ruining your kitchen!”  
  
“No! No no no, please don’t- ”  
  
His throat felt like it was on fire, making it impossible to finish his phrase, not until he had soothed it with a palm full of cold water from the faucet.  
  
“Please don’t think so, Aoi,” he continued, wiping his mouth, “I really appreciate you being here.”  
  
It didn’t seem like Aoi believed him right off the bat; only after a minute (or a second) of scrutinizing him did the raven sigh resignedly. He moved to place the pot into the sink, opening the faucet again.  
  
“Well,” he mused, “I don’t like the thought of you being alone. And you can’t stay in bed on your own all day now, can you?”  
  
Uruha would’ve done anything to be sure it was just the light fever that had his cheeks flushing but he was rather certain that it… wasn’t.  
In order to hide the goofy grin tugging at corner of his lip, he bit down on it hard and watched Aoi silently scrubbing off the dried bits inside the pot. Aoi had definitely noticed the lack of a response but he didn’t question him any further. He didn’t have to, if the blush on Uruha’s face was any indicator.  
  
“Right, so…”  
  
He straightened and put the cloth to the side with a smirk of his own, one of those he’d throw at Uruha on stage, one of those that were breathtaking and disarming, “How about pancakes? Can never go wrong with pancakes.”


End file.
